


Icarus

by juniorstarcatcher



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Adventure, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-15
Updated: 2016-01-15
Packaged: 2018-05-14 01:28:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5724355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juniorstarcatcher/pseuds/juniorstarcatcher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not everyone can be a hero.  Astrid Dast knows that.  All the same, she dreams of the day she can become one. </p><p>Not everyone can be a hero.  But Poe Dameron is.</p><p>Upon discovering that Kylo Ren, the man who held him captive, did not die during the Battle of Starkiller Base, Poe Dameron vows to find him and get revenge.  </p><p>If there was ever a chance for Astrid to become a hero, this is it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_"You're in love with an Icarus._

_He has flown too close to the sun."_

* * *

She did not leave Bonadan for this. Of course, technically, she _did_ leave Bonadan for this. It did not take much for The Resistance to call to her, and when they did, she answered without delay. After all, the planet she called home her entire life offered her less than nothing.

Slavery is an ugly thing. And Astrid Bast lived under its cold stare her entire life.

Bonadan, under First Order control, was a planet of slaves, and Astrid was no different. She cannot remember when a still-faced droid branded the scanner code onto her breast, all she knows is that every time she looks in the mirror, she can see the angry red marks and feel the ghostly sting of burning flesh. She can remember the acrid, destroyed planet surface and the corrosive heat that sank through the very walls of her sweatshop. Her days were spent beneath a sewing machine, performing the complicated stitches that droid's metallic fingers could not manage, and the few hours she was given every night to sleep- no less than three- were spent dreaming of a day when she would see the Stars with her own eyes, without the barrier of electrified bars ruining her view of them.

The tale of her escape became the stuff of legend, and the details became mixed and fuzzy, though a few staples (the few bits of truth) remained: the Resistance officer who snuck undercover to tell the slaves of possible liberation, the slave who ratted her out, turning the other slaves against her, and Astrid and the officer's wild but successful attempt to run away with The First Order hot on their heels. The once slave would never return to hear the often exaggerated but no less delightful tales of her own exploits, but some nights, she lies awake in her own bed, remembering the look on her foreman's face when she and Officer Talel were hoisted into the Resistance fighter.

She remembers the first time she saw the stars with her own eyes, remembers the first thought that popped into her head when the blazing candles of light broke the blackness of space: There are as many stars in the sky as there are chances for me to be something special. The thought was so beautiful, so innocent, that she could not help the tears that fell down her cheeks.

The Resistance welcomed her with open arms, and though Officer Talel's mission was technically a failure- after all, she was meant to liberate all of the slaves, not just one lowly seamstress- Astrid became a curiosity on base, a celebrity in her own right as aliens of all species asked her flurries of questions about The First Order.

Everyday, she began her morning with a prayer of thanks. Immeasurable thanks for freedom.

But if she had known that she would be sequestered in the Quartermaster's office night and day, sewing buttons and repairing flight suits, she would have just stayed in the sweatshop back home. At least there she didn't have to smell the stench of Star Pilot sweat. No matter how grateful she is to be away from the stare of the foreman and the wills of The First Order, she cannot help the itch of impatience that runs through her blood. She did not leave Bonadan to do nothing. She joined the Resistance to do something. Anything. Well, anything but laundry and stitching.

Spending her days in the laundry isn't awful. It certainly isn't a sweatshop. But, still, she feels dissatisfied, spends her days with autopilot hands and a wandering mind. While her fingers operate with thread and washing powder, her imagination takes her to the front lines, painting portraits of herself as a great infantry woman, a brilliant military mastermind, a rousing speech maker.

The Resistance might have saved her, but it is her daydreams that sustain her.

Her days are, also, made brighter still when _he_ appears. All of The Resistance is- to some extent- polite. They treat her with dignity, with respect, when they come to the laundry window with bags of clothes or articles for altering. Astrid is treated to smiles and thanks, to small talk and pleasantries.

When Poe Dameron comes by, though? She feels special. For a while, she convinced herself that he was inventing reasons to see her, but eventually dismissed it. Anyone could lose a button, break a zipper, rip a sleeve, need a shirt pressed and the sole of a shoe fixed in one week, couldn't they? After all, what would he, the famous pilot, want with her, the escaped slave with no past?

"Astrid!" He greets her one morning.

Her name. Can anyone ever measure the value of a name? An identity? Any time she hears those two little syllables from him, an avalanche of feeling fills her chest. Not just because it's Poe saying it, no, he does not have quite that effect on her, but because for so long she was nothing but the brand on her chest. When he says her name, she remembers why she fought for her freedom. To have an identity.

"'Morning, Poe," she replies, unable to stop the contagious smile that he wears from affecting her, "Flying out this morning?"

Him flying out means that she will not see him for at least another day; she tries to hide her disappointment, masking it instead with feigned excitement for him.

"Yeah. Jakku," he says, ever modest about his missions. _Well, modest or following secrecy protocol_ , Astrid thinks. Poe looks over the laundry counter, searching for something at Astrid's feet, "How's that droid of yours?"

Ah, the droid. When Astrid arrived on base, she had... A hard time adjusting. After a lifetime of slavery, the taste of free air often disturbed and confused her. What did they mean she could just have as much food as she wanted? They were just going to give her clothes? She could walk anywhere she wanted on base? Free life bewildered her.

More than that, though, she found it hard to be alone. Every machine groan and airlock hiss made her jump, her mind conjuring up dark fantasies of torture and pain at every sound. In an attempt to guide her new life, to assimilate her to freedom, Officer Talel gave her a gift: the small orange and white droid that helped fly the plane that saved Astrid from Bonadan.

It was a happy ending for them both, truth be told. The flight was to be BB-8's last mission- the droid was to be retired and dismantled after being deemed too wily and quirky for active combat- and Astrid needed a companion. From then on, the droid was not ever more than an arm's length away.

Astrid looks down at BB-8, who returns her gaze with his one large eye.

"Good. Will be happier when we aren't stuck back here."

BB-8 chirps confusion. He doesn't mind working in the laundry. Astrid shoots him a sidelong glare; she is trying to drop hints, hints that perhaps her friend will mention to General Organa. BB-8 whistles in confirmation. Assessing her, Poe's gaze focuses in on the face of the woman before him.

"Really? I thought you liked the laundry."

She turns away and walks into the labyrinth of clothing racks and machines to retrieve the flight suit she handled with extra care the night before, trying not to let his words sting. Walking through the aisles of fabric stacks, searching, she shrugs. Is that why she can't get promoted out of the laundry? People think she likes it here?

"I don't mind it," she says with a resigned sigh, "I'm good at it."

Of course she's good at it. She was not allowed to do anything else her entire life. Perhaps _that_ is the real reason she wants to be out. Perhaps leaving the laundry would make her finally feel free of her past.

"What would you want to do? If you weren't here?" He calls; she can almost hear the smile on his face.

That's the thing that sets Poe apart, and that's why she talks to him more than anyone else on base. He doesn't ask because it's polite. He asks because he wants to know. It doesn't take long for Astrid to flip through the pages of her mind for her most vivid daydream.

"Infantry," she replies, almost thoughtlessly as she pulls his flight suit off of the rack.

Force, how she would love to shoot out line after line of Storm Troopers. She knows they couldn't all be held responsible for her life enslaved, but she just doesn't care. After a moment of considerable silence, a thoughtful peace, Poe replies.

"I can see that," he says, "You'd be good at it."

Astrid's lips curl into a quiet, secret smile as she hugs the flight suit to her chest, happy that he cannot see her through the shelves and clothing racks between them. Warmth spreads in her chest, a small flame inside her that is fanned by his words; the best pilot in the galaxy believes in _her_. BB-8 clucks at her, clearly catching her in the moment of hidden joy.

"Oh, hush," she scolds, looking down at the small figure.

BB-8 chirps once: "Whatever you say". _Get it together_ , Astrid commands herself before coughing away her smile and walking back to Poe, the droid tagging along at her heels. Laying the suit down on her counter, she braves a look in those warm, dark eyes.

"Your lucky suit," she says with a sigh.

Poe's lips quirk upward in a half-smile, raising an eyebrow.

"Extra lucky?" He questions, a joking lilt to his tone.

In her entire life, Astrid can think of only a handful of times when she made a true, honest _joke_. So, perhaps, she is not as practiced as Poe, perhaps she is not as polished. But, unable to help herself, she tries as best as she can.

"Couldn't send you out there without extra luck."

She winces as soon as the words come out, knowing how _stupid_ she must sound to him. Then, to her immense surprise, the pilot laughs. He takes the flight suit from her, throwing it over his shoulder.

"Thanks," he says, but does not move.

Instead, he looks down at his hand, currently resting on her counter, as if it holds the secrets to the galaxy. Eyebrows furrowing, he seems lost in thought, caught in the recesses of his own mind.

"Anything else I can do for you?" Astrid prompts.

At first, Poe shakes his head, a weak, supposedly reassuring wince on his face as he tries to turn away. He gets almost three whole steps away from her before turning back around.

"You know, I feel..."

Again, he trails off.

"What?" Astrid asks.

A deep breath fills his lungs, as if he's about to make some grand confession. Astrid could not imagine why _she_ of all people would be someone in which he would want to confide; all she knows is that she's leaning over the counter that divides them, hanging on his every move, his every word. He has always spoken to her with such familiarity, such kindness, that she cannot help but to wish for a chance to repay the favor. Something grave crosses his face, darkening the handsome features.

"Look, this mission is... It's big," he looks up from his hands, his wide eyes focusing on her, reasserting just how important his words are, "Big. And I can't help but feel..."

Astrid has seen this look before, often in herself; she knows _exactly_ what he is feeling.

"Scared?" She asks, her voice gentle, soft.

Poe barks out a sharp laugh of overcompensation, clearly confirming exactly the thing he is trying to deny.

"Look, I don't get scared. But…" He sighs and talks almost as if he is revealing to her his greatest, most secret weakness, "Anything could happen. And I'm alone out there."

 _Alone_. The weight of that word beats Astrid squarely in the center of her chest, over and over again like the repetition of a slaver's whip. _Alone, alone, alone, alone, alone…_ If anyone knows what it is to be alone, it is Astrid. Unable to help herself, she is confronted with memories of her own emptiness, forgetting for a moment that this man is standing before her.

"I'm sorry," Poe says after a moment of the young woman's silence, "This is stupid," he breaks out into a large smile, but his eyes are more sad than Astrid has ever seen, "You don't need to care, don't worry about it."

She watches him walk away with brave shoulders and sad eyes, and it occurs to her that he looks like a martyr.

Does she want him to be a martyr?

"Poe!" The word comes out of her mouth before she realizes what it is that she's doing.

As soon as she speaks, she knows in her heart that what she's doing is right. There is no other alternative; she must do what it is that she can.

"Hm?" Poe mumbles, turning toward her.

In one move, she bends over and scoops BB-8 into her arms, ignoring his mechanical protestations as she sweeps under the laundry counter and enters the blindingly bright hallway. For the first time, she and Poe Dameron stand without any barrier between them; they are face-to-face. She drinks him in, memorizing every detail of him that she possibly can.

What happens next is, in Astrid's life, her greatest sacrifice.

"Take him," she says, extending BB-8 in Poe's direction.

 _What_? BB-8 chirps, his head swiveling around to stare up at his caretaker, his single eye somehow looking wider than ever.

Ignoring her droid and doing ignoring the way her hands are violently shaking, she takes a step forward. _Courage_ , she reminds herself, _courage_. Her chest is heaving and her heart is running laps, but she does not falter. Instead, she doubles down.

"He's a good flight droid. You won't be alone," she assures him.

Poe's face is ashen, his eyes disbelieving. Everyone on the base knows the story of her little companion droid; BB-8's presence at her side is as common a sight in The Resistance as General Leia and C-3PO. Part of him screams that he could not _possibly_ take the droid. How could he? It's _hers_. Another part of him, however, cannot deny the sweet peace that he feels at her words. _You won't be alone._ If he left now, without the BB unit, he would take some other droid in his ship. But if he left now _with_ the BB unit, he wouldn't be leaving with just a droid; he would be leaving with a piece of Astrid. A piece of his friend.

It's odd, he thinks, how he came to think of her as a friend. At first, he spoke to her because he thought it would be good for her. Everyone on base whispered about the sad slave girl behind the laundry counter, and he thought perhaps someone taking an interest would make her smile. He couldn't bear the wide, empty look in her eyes that never escaped during her first few weeks on planet. But now, he talks to her because he cannot help it. He finds himself making excuses to come to her counter, purposefully fiddling with a button or dirtying up his pants so he can spend a few extra minutes in her presence.

He looks at her warily.

"Are you sure?" He asks.

Her response is immediate; Astrid is afraid that if she hesitates, that she will retreat.

"Yes," she says, bending down so that BB-8 might roll the remaining distance between her and the pilot.

The little droid lands on the floor, turning his eye up to Astrid. _You want me to go?_ He squawks. Braving a smile, she fights back the tears in her eyes, nodding. Emitting a sound that felt, to Astrid, almost like a sigh, BB-8 spins and crosses to Poe.

"Hey, buddy," the pilot says, looking down at his new companion, "You ready?"

 _As ready as I'll ever be_ , BB-8 chirps, prompting Poe's laughter.

"Go on to the ship, then," he says with a nod of his head.

Poe has never known droids to be sentimental, but he does not miss the way that BB-8 turns back to look at Astrid one more time, as if sad to be parted from her.

"Do what he says, BB-8. And take care of him," Astrid says, adding a final thought in case Poe thinks she has gotten too attached, "Don't let his shirts get dirty."

The droid departs, leaving Poe and Astrid alone in the hallway. A silence stretches between them, a silence like the cold, dead vastness of space. Neither knows quite what to say, neither knows if they can actually comprehend the truth of the moment that just passed between them.

"Thank you," Poe finally says.

Astrid can almost feel the emptiness of BB-8's place at her side, but she puts on a brave face and reminds herself why it's worth it.

"Well. Wouldn't want you to be alone."

Another moment of vast silence. What can he say to that? Scraping his mind, Poe thinks of something, anything he can do to repay her. Then, reaching into his pocket, he pulls out something that has not been out of his possession since his mother died: a small metallic piece of his mother's A-Wing Fighter. To anyone else, it may have been insignificant, but to Poe, it is the whole world. He extends it to her. It is his hand's turn to shake.

"What's this?" Astrid asks, taking the piece hesitantly.

Poe shrugs.

"Collateral. So you know you'll get BB-8 back," he explains easily.

It isn't much, but it's something for him to hold onto. If this mission goes topside, he'll remember that he has something to come back for. Poe's heart grows as he watches Astrid take in the small metal piece with interest, how carefully she handles it. Without his having to say anything, she knows exactly how important it is to him.

"I…" Astrid has so much to say, but stops herself, instead choosing to say something safe, "I have to get back to work."

Poe does not miss how her hand tightens around his collateral, nor how she takes a few steps backward.

"BB-8 and I will see you soon," he promises.

She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

"I know."

Later that afternoon, Astrid hears the alarm for outgoing ships and rushes to the impossibly small laundry window. Balancing atop a highly unstable stack of boxes, she peeks out of the glass, and watches Poe Dameron's X-Wing take to the sky, accompanied by her BB-8.

Her entire body tingles at the sight, and she feels freedom even as she's surrounded by the dirty walls of the laundry. _Her_ BB-8 blasting off in an X-Wing! She feels peace with the realization that at least…Even if she can't see the galaxy, save the day, at least a part of her could.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there it is! Chapter one! I'll be completely honest, I haven't read any other Poe/OC fics, so I have no idea if the BB-8 idea is a common one, and maybe somewhere in canon they say where BB-8 came from, but I was really inspired by Carrie Fisher's service dog Gary, and I wanted to pay tribute to that and how much it meant to me in this story. I hope you all like it, and please, please, please leave me a comment or kudos! It means so much to me and I love hear thoughts from you all!


	2. Chapter 2

The next day, Astrid desperately feels the absence of BB-8.She barely makes it out of bed and struggles to walk down the hall on her own; she is not upset that she gave him to Poe, but now wishes she had thought it through a bit more.She misses having someone to reassure her that things are alright, misses a companion to nip at her heels.The day begins and continues much as her other days do: alone in the laundry.Astrid does exactly what she always does.She hums to herself and daydreams, washes clothes and sews. 

That is, until a small cough from behind her breaks the monotony. 

“Excuse me?" 

Astrid’s entire body freezes; she knows that voice without even turning around.A million regrets fly through her head.She’s horribly dressed and sweaty from the clothes press and sticky from the soap and in no condition to face a _General_.Cursing herself and wondering what, exactly, it is that she must have done to garner the attention of Leia Organa, Astrid turns and faces whatever is coming next.

“Oh- uh-” She stammers out, suddenly unsure of how to string words together to form a sentence, looking at General Organa and the protocol droid standing by her side. 

Astrid’s only encounters with The General have been in passing; someone else delivers her laundry.So now, facing the woman, Astrid can do nothing but openly gawk in admiration.This is the woman who ended the _Empire_. The New Republic was built by _those_ hands.The destruction of the Death Star was seen by _those_ eyes.She was a Princess, but forfeited her title of privilege to lead the _people_.She is a legend, a god, to Astrid, the living embodiment of all it means to be a member of The Resistance. 

The General watches the young woman with pointed interest, a kindness hovering around the corners of her eyes, a curiosity waiting in the quirks of her lips.Her blunt stare does not frighten Astrid, but only serves to confuse her more.Why would The General, this hero, have any interest in her?

“Are you Astrid Dast?” General Organa asks, raising an eyebrow. 

The sight of the golden droid at Leia’s side sends pangs of longing through Astrid’s heart. BB-8 is apart of her; losing him is like losing a piece of herself.Jerky movements moving him forward, the droid steps towards Astrid. 

“Oh, yes, General, this is-” he begins.

A single hand raised is all it takes for the droid to quiet.He has been with the older woman for long enough to understand all of her signals and symbols, even if he does not fully agree with or understand her reasoning for them.After all, he has been _programmed_ for protocol and etiquette, shouldn’t she want him around always, to help her through situations like making this introduction?

“3PO, Wait outside,” The General says.

Astrid watches as C-3PO turns to face his companion, almost hearing a twinge of hurt in his voice. 

“Have I-?” He questions.

“Just go,” Leia sighs. 

Leaning against a nearby table, The General waits until her protocol droid has left the laundry before leveling her gaze at the young woman before her, probing her with her eyes, trying to understand her before she has offered any information.Leia has been around long enough to tell a lot about a creature by the way they stand, the way they hold silence. 

What is there for her to learn about this young woman? Well.The stooped shoulders and back- her terrible posture- tells The General what she already knows: the young woman was enslaved for a time too long to imagine.Her fingers are calloused from intricate, mind-numbing work. There is no laughter around her eyes; she scratches at a brand peeking out from the collar of her work suit.But she holds up under Leia’s scrutiny with ease, despite the discomfort in her eyes, which tells the former princess that she is braver than she believes herself to be. 

“So, you’re Astrid Dast?” General Organa asks. 

“Yes, General,” the woman replies, her voice weaker than she wanted it to be, but stronger than she believed it could be in the presence of this legend. 

Now, more than ever, Astrid wishes for her droid to come back.What she wouldn’t give to feel BB-8 nudge her leg and chirp that everything is going to be alright, no matter what Leia thinks of her.The young woman’s palms begin to sweat, and not from the heat of the steamer working full-blast behind her. 

“Do you like working in the laundry?”The older woman asks, motioning to the room around her.

Astrid’s stomach drops.How can she answer that question?The Resistance saved her from _slavery,_ openly took her in, and gave her a new life.If she tells the truth- to the woman whose responsibility the entire Resistance is- there is no way she will not sound ungrateful.She cannot conceive of a way to speak with honesty without insulting the woman who gave her a second chance at living. 

“I’m good at it, General,” she answers, diplomatically.

It’s not untrue, but it doesn’t exactly answer Leia’s question.Astrid flushes as subtle hints of the other woman’s disapproval make their way onto her face.Her lips tighten and her gaze falls to the floor for a brief moment, a sharp breath escaping from her nose.When she looks at Astrid once again, her eyes are slightly narrowed, questioning.

“Do you know a pilot named Poe Dameron?”

Why do all of these questions feel like traps?Astrid does not want The General to think that she has been shirking her duties in favor of girlish flirting or distracting the best pilot from performing _his_ duties, nor does she want her to think that she’s been rude or cold to anyone who comes to the laundry. 

“We’ve spoken,” she says. 

Tired of dancing around the issue, Leia cuts straight to the chase.Before he left for Jakku, an odd, small droid rolling beside him, the pilot went out of his way to find General Organa and tell her about the laundry woman who dreamed of fighting on the front lines.Of course, he put it more tactfully, even reverently, than that, but that is how the General understands the situation.

“He’s told me you expressed interest in infantry training,” she says.

Astrid’s heart is full.And she tries desperately to hide the joyful glow that is rising to her face. 

“… Yes m’am,” she nods. 

Pushing off of the table against which she was leaning, General Organa makes a waving motion and heads for the door. 

“Let’s see what you can do,” Leia says. 

Eyes too wide, Astrid feels her entire body go cold.It’s all happening so fast; this entire conversation has sent her head spinning. 

“Right now?” She questions, her voice strained against the wall of her own sudden fear. 

A smirk graces Leia’s face as she turns back to the young woman. 

“Unless Poe was mistaken?” She teases. 

This time, the girl does not hesitate. 

* * *

 

When the General suggested that Astrid attempt to shoot, she did not think that the woman herself would be the one to teach her.After all, she’s the leader of the entire Rebel base.How could she have the time or patience to take someone like Astrid under her wing? 

In truth, the General is doing this as a personal favor to Poe.A General shouldn’t have favorites, but she has always had a special place in her heart and mind and military for the pilot.After all, his mother was her personal pilot; she has known the boy his entire life.If Poe believes in the woman this much, then Leia will give her all of the time and attention she needs.And more than that, since becoming a General, the former princess has hardly held a weapon.The thought of training someone with a blaster sends excited flutters to her stomach.

They are about to enter the training rooms when Leia turns to the girl, walking a few paces behind her, and points to the necklace that the girl is wearing.

“No jewelry in the Range,” she says.

General Organa is taken off guard by the sudden severity and gravity that overtakes Astrid’s features.She shakes her head and has the gall to deny Leia what she has just commanded.

“This doesn’t come off,” Astrid declares.

It is then that Astrid steps close enough for Leia to see what it is, exactly, that Astrid is wearing around her neck.What Leia first thought to be a silver necklace adorned with a misshapen stone or crystalized lava is actually, on further examination, something else entirely.A clothes hanger, crudely deconstructed, serves as a necklace, upon which Leia instantly recognizes the tiny piece of his mother’s ship that Poe always carries around.Immediately, she backs off of the rules. 

After all, rules can be broken. 

“Ah.I see,” she draws in a breath and presses the door open, “Well.Come along.”

* * *

It goes on like that for a few days: Mornings are spent daydreaming in the laundry, and afternoons are spent living those daydreams with a blaster.General Organa is a patient and wise teacher, sometimes answering questions before Astrid even has a chance to ask them.By no means an expert yet, Astrid knows the road to infantry will be long, but at least now she’s on the road at all.The absence of BB-8 and the space in her mornings that used to be filled by Poe’s brief visits to the laundry are becoming more normal, more bearable, but she feels those holes in her life all the same, no matter how small those holes are becoming. 

Life continues like that until one morning- when the rains are pouring outside of the Base, drops of water dripping through the panes of her small window- two chatting men arrive at her window, paying her no interest.

“He’s messed up.Really messed up,” the first one says, tossing his laundry bag at Astrid carelessly, nearly knocking her over with the force of it.

Tossing the bag of dirty clothes aside into the ever-growing pile- today is the preferred laundry day for most of the mechanical crew, which means Astrid will be covered in extra grease remover by the afternoon- Astrid almost misses the vital piece of information that the second man carelessly tosses out.

“Kriff,” he swears, “Dameron’s the best pilot we got.At least he made it home, though.Even if he is in bad shape,” the second says, considerately.

Astrid’s world stops. _Dameron?_ Poe made it back and no one told her?How long has he been here?Did General Organa know?How badly is he hurt? 

“Does he have a droid with him?”

The question pops out of her mouth before she even consciously considers the thought.The two men look across the counter at her, various states of confusion stupidly plastered across their faces.

“What?” The second one asks.

Chest thumping, Astrid speaks impatiently- too impatiently to be considered at all polite.

“Orange and white droid, did he have it with him?” She repeats. 

The first one replies with the words Astrid did not want to hear.

“No.No droid.” 

* * *

 She tries to see him that day, as General Organa conveniently cancelled their training session “for personal reasons”, but no one will tell her where he is.She goes to the medical bay, and they tell her he’s in the recovery parlor.She goes there and they tell her he’s in the PT arena.She goes there and they tell her he’s in his cabin.She goes to his cabin and his bunkmates tell her he’s in the medical bay. 

That night, she cannot sleep, and the 0400 alarm that rings in her bunk does not have to wake her, for she never closed her eyes in the first place.She walks to the laundry, ready to begin the day’s work, but pauses on her way there.The canteen is darkened as it always is when she enters- walking through it is the quickest way to the laundry- and she is taken aback by the shadow of a presence sitting at a table in the low ambient light.He stares at the wall across from him, expressionless, his face drawn in exhaustion.

Poe Dameron.The man of the hour. 

Her regulation boots make small noises on the floor which rouse him from his blank contemplation. His head turns in her direction, but he doesn’t speak.Halting her body a length away from him, she waits for him to speak first.For the first time since meeting him, he does not.

“You’re back,” she says, finally taking the initiative to start a conversation.

What is it she’s feeling?Is she really feeling _sorry_ for the man who has lost her companion droid? Dameron nods slowly, as if moving it too fast will make his head rush.It takes all of Astrid’s strength to ignore the signs of brutality and trauma across Poe’s face and body.

“Yes,” he confirms.

She wonders if he will say anything about BB-8, if he will confess what happened to him. The air is thick with tension, undefined and heavy.Their words are underscored by the air refresher circulating cold oxygen through the room; the sound only increases the discomfort.

“No one told me,” she says, “No one told me you were back.” 

Poe’s words strike her to the core of her being, shredding through her like blaster fire.

“I told them not to."

 _Leave now_ , she thinks to herself, _He doesn’t want you here and he isn’t going to give you any answers_.Her better mind is telling her how to proceed, how to turn her back and leave him alone in this room, to abandon him for not returning BB-8. 

But, when she looks at him, she knows she cannot do it.When she first arrived on base, she looked just like does now.Shattered.She wonders what could have made him so.What could have happened in the short time he was away that broke him so thoroughly?With a sigh, she slides into the canteen seat across the table from him and folds her arms in front of her.

“What are you doing awake?” She asks; after all, 0400 is not an hour that most pilots are awake. 

Poe shrugs.

“Can’t sleep,” he mumbles, no longer meeting her gaze as he runs a hand over his stubbled jaw.

Typical evasion.Astrid can see his game from a mile away; he doesn’t want her to know that he’s struggling.It’s like looking in a mirror of herself from the days just after her escape from slavery. 

“Oh,” she says, simply. 

“Yeah,” he says. 

“Rough mission?”

“Yeah.”

There are movements in the human spirit that are too big to be described in words, or to be fully understood by others.Astrid can see that Poe is in the throes of just such a movement.If someone would have asked her- even in this moment- to describe what Poe is experiencing, she couldn’t.It’s not misery.It’s not unhappiness.It’s not misery.It’s… more than that.Something that draws the light from his eyes and the smile from his lips and the spark from his soul.Running a hand through her greasy hair, Astrid offers what she can to him.It isn’t much, but at least he’ll know he isn’t alone. 

“I had that- the sleeping thing- for a really long time,” she replies.

And it’s true.In those first months on base, sleep was a horizon-something she could never catch no matter how relentlessly she pursued it. 

“Yeah?” Poe asks.

He looks up at her for the first time since they first locked eyes a moment ago, and this time, there is a flicker of promise in them. The promise that something could be done, that she might understand. 

“Yeah,” she says, wishing she had been the slightest urge to smile and reassure him. 

Poe looks at his hands for a minute, his right hand picking at the skin of his left palm, before casually glancing back up at Astrid.He’s trying so hard to pretend that this isn’t a big deal, like he isn’t desperate for any help she could give him.

“W-What’d you do about it?” The pilot asks. 

Her response isn’t meant to be cruel or vindictive.It’s just the truth. 

“Got BB-8.”

Those two words hang in the air like an all-seeing star, shining a blinding spotlight on Poe, who cannot say anything.What is there to say?He failed her.She trusted him, and he failed her.She _should_ hate him, he thinks.When Astrid realizes that he has nothing more to say, she rises from the table.

“Hope you get to sleep eventually,” she says, surprised by the sincerity in her own voice. 

“Astrid,” he says, his hands twitching to reach out for her, but failing to actually touch her skin, “I’m sorry.”

She will not cry.She will not cry.She will not cry. 

“Me too,” she says, before pulling the necklace bearing the piece of his mother’s ship from her neck and extending it to him, “Here.”

Poe shakes his head, “Keep it.”

“But-” She protests.

The pilot cannot stand the look in her eye; he knows that he’s going to get that droid back, even if it kills him. 

“I’ll get it back when you get BB-8 back,” he vows. 

It isn’t a grand declaration.It isn’t even much of a promise to Astrid’s ears.But, even so, she slips the necklace back around her neck.And sits back down across from him.

They don’t speak for a long time.Each is caught in their own thoughts, their own peace.Astrid is daydreaming when Poe wakes her from it with words so quiet she almost thinks she imagined them.

“Do you think I’m going to be alright?”he asks. 

Poe knows, even before he asks the question, that she doesn’t know the answer.She doesn’t know what he has been through, does not know what torture was like at the hands of that monster, does not know what he did to survive the crash, does not know how he managed to escape Jakku and make it back to base.But, right now, it doesn’t matter what she knows because he doesn’t really care about the truth. 

All the same, Astrid gives it to him, carefully reaching out with the tips of her fingers to brush his shaking hands.

“Without a doubt.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two! This takes place between Finn and Poe landing on Jakku and when The Resistance arrives at Maz Kanata's Palace, just for some context! Please, please, please leave a comment!


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